Pariah
by expectopastrami
Summary: Voldermort doesn't kill Harry on Halloween 1981. Instead, he curses him with the Mark of Cain. Dumbledore arrives and tries to fix things, but without success. All he can do is give Harry a chance. Nine and 3/4 years later, Headmaster McGonagall begrudgingly offers an orphan boy who's presence disturbs her a place at Hogwarts. That night, he has a dream... Please review!
1. Author's Note

Author's Note.

The following story is the first three chapters of my 2012 National Novel Writing Month's attempt. It was written starting Midnight on the 1st of November, and honestly, I am not sure if it's worth continuing.

This is non-betad, only minimally edited. Ye Be Warned.

No Slash, No Ships of any tonnage.

I'm going to post it here since I'm starting to doubt the direction the plot is going, and I'd like some feedback before I'm too far in to start over.

Please, , what do you think? Should I continue this?

Yours.

_Expecto Pastrami!_


	2. Chapter 1 - Halloween

October 31st, 1981, 8:54pm.

Chapter 1 - Halloween.

The grandfather clock's gears ticked quietly in the long glass case, the only sound in the hallway, and indeed, in the entire cottage, except for the breathing of two adults and one tired infant. James and Lily both stared at the young infant laying in his crib.

"Is he finally asleep?" James breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Lily nodded, and tiptoed down the hallway to the stairs. They sat, her waving her wand once to cast a one way _tacetius_ charm so that their conversation wouldn't bother Harry, him summoning a bottle of elf made wine and two glasses over from the side board. He poured them each a splash and recorked it with a tap of his wand, setting bottle and wand on the table beside him.

"That last batch of trick or treaters screaming outside woke him, and he wouldn't go back to sleep." she murmured, sipping her wine, still quiet despite the charm making sure that their voices wouldn't disturb their babe.

They sat together in the comfortable silence of a married couple who've just spent hours getting a fussy toddler to sleep, enjoying the excellent wine. After a few minutes, James finally spoke up as he drained the last of his. "Padfoot will be coming over tomorrow." He said. "I thought we might have him bring some Chinese food over."

Lily turned, giving her husband a mock-cold look. "Tired of my cooking, are you? Well you could take a turn at it yourself." She managed to hold her grin back for a whole five seconds as James sputtered, before bursting out with giggles. "Oh, James, darling, I was kidding. I'd love to have something different for a change. Neither of us are great shakes in the kitchen."

James took a moment to calm his breathing. "Honestly, woman, must you do that to me?" he gave a grin. "You're just too nice! I keep expecting you to develop cabin fever in this place. Merlin knows I have."

Lily gave him a chuckle. "Honestly, I have Harry, you, a potions lab downstairs, and a trunkload of books to read. I mean, sure, I'd love to get out more, but I was ready to be a stay at home wife and spend a few years raising a kid or three. We're wizards, we have another fourteen decades ahead of us, once we topple old Voldy's reign of terror."

James ducked his chin. "I know. I just wish I was out there, DOING something towards that end, rather than stuck in this house and only seeing my mates once every few weeks." He fidgeted in his chair, looking towards the closet by the door where his auror's robes hung, gathering dust. "I love you, darling, and I don't mind spending time in your company, but I want to spend time in your company doing things, not just… Oh, I don't know."

She reached over to take her glass, finishing her drink. "Another?" She asked, and he shook his head.

"I don't want to get fuzzy with nobody else to watch Harry. Go ahead, if you want." Lily shook her head and stood, carrying both glasses to the kitchen. James rose and put the wine away the old fashioned way, following his wife into the kitchen. Are you sure you're alright, love?" He asked.

Lily chuckled. "Fine, fine. Just… Remember the Halloween feasts at Hogwarts? I just miss being able to properly celebrate things like that with other people."

The charm on the front gate sounded. The two stared at the door, instantly alert. "Padfoot here a day early?" She asked, and he shook his head, going white as he looked into the living room where his wand lay on the table.

The door shattered.

"Lily, Go! Take Harry, run!" The blood traitor screamed, and charged towards the table where two wands lay. His speed was such that he managed to get his fingers around it and cast a nonverbal patronus, a silver doe shooting from the tip and through the window.

He didn't have time to cast a second spell. "_Confringo._"

A loud explosion knocked the elder Potter out and left him bleeding and broken on the floor, his wand smashed.

The man's filthy mugblood wife ran up the steps, her own wand next to her husband's. _fools!_, he thought. But the Dark Lord knew that he'd soon have the company of Albus Dumbledore, and possibly others, to deal with, and cast a quick body bind curse on her. If Severus wanted his piece of mugblood filth to defile, who was he to argue? She fell down the stairs, the curse keeping her from breaking anything, though she'd be bruised. Tough.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the half-blood who'd raised an army and led them in revolt, ascended the steps to the child's room as he heard the crack of someone apparating in the street outside. His mind raced. What to do to this prophecized child.

His knowledge of spells was great. The only man he feared was about to enter the house. He could kill this boy… but an evil thought came to him. What if this son of a muggleborn and a traitor was seen for what he should be? What _HE'D_ been?

His wand started to make x-shapes in the air as he incanted the little known spell. He heard the old man racing up the steps behind him as he finished the spell. "_Stigmate dispectio!_"

Harry screamed.

Dumbledore moved swiftly, already moving his own wand as the curse flew towards the child, and cast before it hit. "_Tardisimum!_" The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to stop, though the pendulum still continued to move infinitesimally slowly, as did the bolt of vile yellow light moving towards Harry.

The old wizard moved with speed, racing forward towards the child, having to fight against the very air molecules, though even with the spell which slowed time around him, he couldn't beat the curse. He choked on tears as he felt the curse take effect, and thrust his hand towards the child, entering Harry's mind before his own was affected.

He cast more magic than he ever had before, more than he had battling Grindelwald, more than he'd ever even attempted. He felt the drain, and pushed past the pain of trying to cast faster than the air would let him.

Tom Riddle's wand was The clock ticked once as the Dark wizard's wand moved, his lips starting to form a spell.

The headmaster of Hogwarts reached down into the crib, casting a shield charm on the child before flinging him through the window hard towards the street outside. He turned, taking the last reserves of his magic and casting before the red eyed wizard screamed.

"_Prohibere tempore!_"

Seconds before, a man had appeared in the street with a lout crack. Alastor Moody, better known as "Mad Eye" due to the magical false eye that he wore, swore as he looked around him, hoping for some clue as to which way Dumbledore had gone, but there was nothing out of the ordinary on the quiet street. He couldn't enter the potter cottage, couldn't even find it. Moments after he arrived, he was hit with shards of glass, and a white sphere shot down the street.

Mad-Eye didn't noticed the sphere, though, as in almost the same moment he was stunned by a massive release of magic from the same direction. He felt sick from it as it whited out the vision in his magical eye.

But the Fidelius charm held, and try as he might, he couldn't find the home of the Potters. He spent another ten minutes walking up and down the street before giving up in disgust.

He cursed magnificently and looked around to ensure nobody else in the neighborhood had noticed anything amiss, and turned on his heel and disapparated to call an order meeting, though he wasn't sure exactly what they'd be able to do but wait and see.

In a bush, two blocks away from the house where he'd been flung, the shield charm surrounding Harry Potter slowly dissipated. He cried until he was shaking and couldn't make another sound, then he slept. On his forehead was a scar in the shape of an upside down U.


	3. Chapter 2 - 9 and 34 Years Later

**Chapter 2 – Nine and three quarters years later.**

_Tuesday, July 31st, 1990, 4:10 PM._

"DESMOND! Come inside!"

The young boy reacted as any child his age would. He groaned.

He knew the call well, as did everyone in the orphanage he lived in. It meant it was interview time.

He folded up a piece of strange confused looking owl had collided with him earlier that morning. It had an envelope in it's claws that bore the address of the orphanage, but where the name of the person it was for should be were only a few scribbles, like there would be in a comic book where the text was meant to be too small to read. He'd opened it, but it looked like a joke letter. Cauldrons and Magic Wands indeed. He read a lot, and loved stories with magic and fairies and elves (The Hobbit being his favourite) but he had no illusions about what the world was really like.

He climbed the steps from the yard to the slightly worn doors, which were being held open by an older plump lady known as Sister Olive. She was very nice, mostly, but always very distracted. She smiled to him. "Someone to see you. Say they're from a school you've been selected for."

He sighed a bit. "Well, better than another adoption interview." he muttered, and she patted him on the shoulder as they walked to the office. "Well, some day, Desmond." she said, softly.

He didn't answer. There wasn't any point. Every interview went the same. He'd smile and be pleasant, but they'd look at the scar on his forehead, then they'd get pale and sweaty, and then they'd leave and never come back. Mrs. Olive was the only adult this didn't seem to be the case with.

She walked him in to the small interview room, where a tall, rather severe- looking woman waited in the 'parent' seat. She was wearing a high collared black business suit with a modest skirt and sensible shoes. He sat at the table as Sister Olive made the introductions. "This is Professor McGonagall, The headmaster of Alnwick Academy. It's a boarding school in Scotland that " she said, smiling faintly.

The Professor bowed her head to Desmond, and Sister Olive smiled. "Would you like me to stay with you while you talk?" She directed the question to Desmond. He shook his head no, and she nodded. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I'll be in my office next door, Headmaster."

Once Sister Olive left, the Professor took a good look at him, her mouth becoming a hard line for a moment. He'd seen it before, and did his best to smile to her, but it faltered a bit as her eyes widened, looking at the scar on his forehead.

"Hello, Desmond, Before we begin, I'd like to conduct a small test. Would you be so good as to hold this stick for me?" She removed a stick from her sleeve, and held it towards him. He blinked for a moment, but shrugged and took it. Red sparks flew from the end, and she seemed to smile.

She steeled herself a bit, then took the stick back. "Very well done. I am Minerva McGonagall, Headmaster at Hogwarts academy."

Harry frowned. "Didn't Sister Olive say Alnwick?" He asked.

She nodded. "Alnwick is the name for our school the general public knows, and what they believe is that it is an academy for gifted children." She paused. "This is not entirely a lie. What we teach is only something a small number of children in England can do. The full name of the school is the Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We teach magic."

Harry paused, then started to laugh. "Good one. You almost had me. Nice fireworks there, Professor McGonagall, but really? Magic isn't real."

McGonagall shrugged, and gave a small smile. She made a motion with the end of her stick. The sheet of paper sitting on the desk became a crane, which flapped its wings and flew to sit on McGonagall's shoulder.

She then stood, and jumped as she turned into a tabby cat, batting at the crane for a moment before turning back to her usual shape. Harry stopped laughing, his mouth hanging open as he gaped at her.

"Oh my god, you're serious. I can… I can do magic? That letter was real."

Minerva paused. "Oh. You actually got the letter?" She asked. "There was a bit of confusion about that. The school quill wrote the letter but the name came out garbled. I had to track the Owl to find you and do a bit of guesswork to figure out it was really you. Did you show anyone the letter?"

He shook his head. "I thought it was a joke. If I showed it to anyone they'd just take it off me." he shrugged. "The other kids here don't like me much."

She tried to cover it, but that made the woman pale a little. "I see." She said. "And do you know why that is."

He looked up at her. "Because they see my scar and react the way you do. The way everyone but Sister Olive does. They just... don't like me." he folded his arms. "Is everyone at Hogwarts going to be the same?"

The headmaster opened her mouth, then closed it, closing her eyes. "I… Mr. Scott. I-…" She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Hogwarts aims to provide a welcoming environment to all students. We do not tolerate bullying. If anyone troubles you, you can come to any teacher, or me and we will take care of it."

Desmond nodded quietly. He'd heard much the same from Sister Olive, and she always tried her best.

"How did you know to look for me?" he asked.

"Today is your eleventh birthday. On each magical child's eleventh birthday, the Hogwarts quill addresses an envelope to them… Though usually there's a name, even if they've been named by an orphanage..." she shrugged helplessly. "The quill has old magic in it. It was created by the founders, a thousand years ago. We don't quite know what could be strong enough to affect it."

Desmond looked troubled.

"Not to worry. We'll sort it out. As I understand it, you have no known parents, correct?" Desmond nodded. "Well, there is a fund to provide books and such for children who have no means to pay for their own attendance… That is, of course, assuming you wish to attend?" For a moment, she almost looked disappointed when Desmond nodded, but she soon schooled her features. "Well. You may have to purchase some things second hand, but your tuition and board will be covered completely."

He nodded quietly. He sat there and realized this was a moment he thought wouldn't come until much later in life. He'd be leaving the orphanage and going out into the world. He'd spent all his life (at least, what he could remember) in the orphanage.

"Now, normally a parent or guardian would take you to get your school things, but in this case, I will come with you to London to do your school shopping. We can't entrust the secret of magic to an orphanage worker, however dedicated she might be."

Desmond frowned. "So I can't tell her what the school is really for?"

"Absolutely not. There is a law in our society called the Statute of Secrecy. It dictates that muggles- er, non magical folk, are not to be told about magic unless they are a family member to a Witch or Wizard, either through marriage or blood. Even then, one must get permission from the Ministry of Magic." McGonagall stood. "I will return at noon in two days to take you shopping for your school supplies. Now, young man, do you have any further questions that can't wait until Friday?"

He shook his head, then bit his lip as a question popped in to his mind. "Er… How did I get magic?" he asked. She gave a little sigh and a smile.

"You were born that way. Either to magical parents or not... and I'm sorry, Mr. Scott, I have anticipated your next question. We have tried to find records of your birth parents, but they must have been muggles, because we can't find any record of a child with your birth date going missing, or having parents die..." she sounded vague on that point, as if there was something she wasn't telling him, her eyes looked a little unfocused before she closed her eyes and shook her head again.

"I will return. You can ask further questions on Friday. In the meantime, here… have a pamphlet. It's charmed so muggles will see it as a rather boring brochure for Alnwick's academy." She handed him the pamphlet and turned to go. He spoke up. "Headmaster… thank you for your time and for coming to find me."

This made her pause for a moment. "All children who can attend Hogwarts deserve a chance to do so, Mr. Scott. I am just doing my job. Now I must go talk to Sister Olive to make arrangements for Friday."

She turned and left, leaving Desmond to devour the pamphlet in his hands.

"Well, Sister Olive, I certainly see what you warned me about." Said Headmistress McGonagall, tugging lightly on the sleeve of her tweed business suit and sipping the tea she'd been offered. She set it down, staring into the fireplace- or at least, the electric heater set in the same spot as one. Strange muggle inventions. Still, they were warm enough.

Sister Olive nodded. "And… Now that you've met him, will you still be taking him?" she asked, with a little trepidation.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. Just because he's… a little different… well, that's no reason to exclude him. Hopefully we can find a place for him at Alnwick where he will be welcome."

Sister Olive breathed a happy sigh of relief. "It does my soul good to hear that, Professor McGonagall. It really does. I know he's never been happy here, even with all I've tried to do. Maybe some other children who're as smart as he is will help."

McGonagall smiled. "So, tell me a little more about the lad."

The nun nodded. "Of course… Well, he's never had any friends to speak of, even the other children marked as different have never wanted to be friends with him. But he's always got his face in a book, rain or shine. His teachers have had to take 'em off of him once or twice in class when they catch him reading under the table. Never seems to be paying attention in class but always gets top marks on tests."

McGonagall smiled a bit. "I know the type. Well, he'll find himself a bit more challenged at Alnwick, that's for sure." she sipped more of her tea. "And the scar on his forehead?" She asked, finally.

She sighed. "I don't know how he got it, but he was found with it. In a bush in some little town near Tintagel." At this, Minerva almost seemed to prick her ears.

"Tintagel? A village to the south of it?"

Sister Olive's eyes narrowed for a moment. "Aye, that be the place. Baldrick's hollow, or somethin' of that nature." She gave Minerva a look over as the woman's sat stiff backed. "And what is the significance of that bit of information?"

McGonagall opened her mouth, then shut it, speechless for a moment.

Sister Olive frowned. "I see. Very well..-" Minerva raised her hand to interrupt.

"It's nothing, Sister, just… an old friend went missing there some time in eighty one. You said that Desmond was found that year?"

She nodded. "November First."

McGonagall closed her eyes. It couldn't be, just couldn't be. This child could not be Harry, though when she pressed herself for why that was so, she couldn't answer. "A very strange coincidence." she said, finally, steeling her voice. "Well, I shall return on Friday to take him shopping for his school supplies." She said, standing.

"I don't believe in coincidences, Professor. Just God's plan." The nun stood, moving to walk her to the door. "I don't know what this revelation means to you, but so long as it means no harm to the boy, I don't care. Just have a care with him. He's been disappointed by adults so many times in his young life that I don't know how he goes on."

McGonagall's mouth felt dry, despite the tea. "I promise you, Sister Olive. I will do all I can for that boy."

Green eyes, dark hair… but it just couldn't be.

Could it?

_Wednesday, August 1st, 1990, 9:23 PM._

Severus Snape shuddered softly as he opened the door to his small house in Spinner's End. He walked inside, shut it behind him, and fell on the dusty floor.

He was a gaunt man, his long, greasy hair and beard liberally salted with white. He removed his wand from his pocket and desperately tried again, pointing it at the dust. "_Evanesco._" A tiny patch of dust about the size of a postage stamp vanished.

He cursed, and slumped his head. Well, he would do it the muggle way… once he rested a bit.

He was visiting his home for the first time in almost ten years. He'd been sentenced to a term in the Wizarding prison, Azkaban. There, surrounded by foul creatures called Dementors, he'd had every happy memory sucked from his mind, and his magic drained. Before he went, he was a moderately powerful wizard, not a patch on Dumbledore, but still respectable. Now he felt weaker than a first year Hogwarts student.

His body was not that much stronger.

He rubbed his face as he started to drift off there on the rug. At least there was one thing that remained to him. He forced himself up, walking over to the bookshelves which lined one wall, removing a volume and setting it on another shelf, which caused one whole bookshelf to vanish. He walked into his potions lab.

He had no ingredients, but he could go into the forest and gather some basic ones. Once he had a small stock, he could start brewing again. Then he'd brew some potions to sell, and buy more ingredients with the proceeds. He'd likely never be rich, but his skills were enough that he would not be hungry.

He recited the ingredients to a nutrient potion, and lifted the cutting board and a potions knife from the wall. He pulled a dried out aconite root from the shelf, moved to dice it, and found his hands shook. He risked cutting himself if he even attempted to use the knife in a way he once found effortless.

Curses!

He walked through the dark house to the bedroom and pulled the stale blanket off, laying down in it and forcing his eyes shut. He couldn't stop the tears and the choking sensation that filled him. All he'd ever aspired to be was a potions master, and even that had been taken from him.

Sleep didn't come for a long time.

Sleep came hard for Desmond, too. He stared at the ceiling above his bed, sleeping in the top bunk. He had a bunk to himself, and would occasionally sleep in the bottom, so that he could hang a sheet over the opening. But he preferred being up high. He liked climbing trees and sometimes dreamed of flying.

Today was his birthday. He'd thought of himself as eleven since the group birthday party, but now he knew the actual date!

He thought about Hogwarts, about the owl that had delivered his post, and about how the headmistress could turn into a cat. He briefly wondered if he could achieve the same feat.

In a few days he would be going to somewhere in London where he could purchase cauldrons, potions ingredients, and even a magic wand! He wondered exactly what sort of place would have those things. They'd gone to the local shops a few times on trips with the teachers, so they could get the hang of purchasing things and handling money. He imagined handing over a tenner and being given a jar of newt eyes.

He chuckled, and someone else in the dark dormitory said "SHH."

He closed his eyes and did his best to sleep.

He dreamed.


	4. Chapter 3 - The Dream

**Chapter 3 – The Dream**

"Hello, my child." an old man spoke, sadly. He looked ancient, with long, silver hair, and a beard so long it was tucked into his belt. His purple hat had silver runes around the brim.

He looked tired, very tired. Behind him was a strange man holding out a wand, who looked very angry, but he seemed to be frozen in place.

"Today is your eleventh birthday, and if everything has gone correctly, you will have received a letter from a school called Hogwarts. You will have also discovered you are a wizard."

"Nearly ten years ago, when you were but a baby, the man behind me, who is referred to in our world as "He who must not be named," but who calls himself "Lord Voldermort," broke into your house with the intent to end your life. When he got here, he instead cast a curse on you." The old wizard seemed to slump a bit as he spoke. Oddly, his mouth didn't seem to move quite in time with his words, and the more Desmond looked the more it seemed that he was speaking gibberish with his mouth- or at least, not English, though

"The Curse is sometimes called "The Mark of Cain." It will cause people to shun you… even to hate and despise you, and to refuse you aid or comfort. The effect is strongest on Witches and Wizards, but even non-magical folk are affected to some degree or another." Desmond realized that the man behind the wizard he thought was frozen in place was actually moving, very slowly. His lips were moving and his wand was, likewise, moving to point at the old wizard.

"I have slowed time to give you this message, but very soon I too will succumb. This curse has likely made your life difficult over the last few years. I tried to counter it before I too fell to its effects, but if you are receiving this message, then I have failed."

"The only cure is a very difficult to brew potion… and even this will only give you a temporary reprieve. You must try and find a man called Severus Snape. I do not know what will have become of him after all these years, but I can tell you where to start looking for him."

Desmond felt his right hand twitching lightly.

"When you wake up, find a piece of paper and a writing implement. Your hand will write the directions you must follow to remove the curse. The first thing you must do is travel to a house in Godrick's Hollow. Speak to the door and say the words "Phoenix Tail."

He felt himself lift up, surrounded by white light, and heard glass shattering.

Desmond woke with a start, his hand twitching as it was in the dream. He reached for his backpack, which he kept hung on the bedpost next to him when he slept, and removed a notebook and a pen. He wrote in the dark, barely able to make out his own handwriting.

When he had filled two pages, his hand finally stopped twitching. He closed the book, put it and the pen back into his backpack, and slipped silently off the bed. He looked at the clock, 5:17. If he went now he could catch the bus in to town and get on the main train line.

He dressed quickly but silently, grabbing his raincoat off the peg and carrying it and his backpack out of the dorm before he slipped the backpack on and put the raincoat in the backpack. He was used to sneaking out of his dorm. Lots of kids did it and it wasn't hard to sneak past the one bored person watching the door.

He'd been to Godrick's Hollow once to look at the spot where he was found. He'd spent a few hours looking at the various houses on the block, but all he got for his troubles was shouted at by an old woman with white hair.

He pulled his wallet out of his pack, checking to see how much money he had. When he stopped under a street light, he paused, suddenly full of doubt.

Why was he trying to do this again?

He pulled his notebook out and looked at it under the light for the first time.

What he had written had not been in his handwriting. On the previous page he could see his own messy scrawl. What he'd written before he was perfectly awake was in a neat, loopy copperplate, every stroke exact, despite the fact that he'd done it in the dark without knowing what he was writing.

_Okay._ he thought. _So it's real. Can I trust the source?_ He was used to talking to himself, as he often didn't have anyone else to talk things over with.

He thought of the old man, and then thought of the other man behind him. He knew which he'd sooner trust. And the curse... well, it explained why he'd never had a friend, never had more than one adult trust his word, ever.

He put the book and his wallet away in his pack and walked to the train station.

By the time he got to Godrick's Hollow, it was not only light, but the sun was nearly at it's peak. He'd had to change from a train to a smaller bus, then to a little local bus service where he and one other old man were the only passengers. Once he got off in the center of the little village, he immediately knew which way to go, following the main road and turning right, then left, the houses around him getting progressively older. Any adults that saw him on his way seemed to turn up their noses, as usual. Nobody stopped him.

He came to a stop outside an old, rundown house with the grass growing long. He opened the rusty gate and walked up to the front door. The stange, rippled glass in the windows was dark, and the porch had a thick layer of dust on it. It didn't look like anyone had visited for a long time. Or at least, no visitors who used the front door.

The door itself was strange too, round topped instead of a rectangle like the doors at the home. It was made of dark wood and had iron bands around it. It looked ancient somehow, and a little out of place. He felt foolish as he spoke, sincerely hoping nobody was living here now, though something told him that he was safe from that. "Phoenix Tail."

The door swung open to reveal a hallway with a high, arched ceiling. He walked inside, and the door swung shut behind him, startling him for a moment.

There was an inch of dust on every surface in the rundown flat, but other than that it was neat and tidy. He walked forward, stumbling in the dark as he fumbled for a lightswitch, not finding one. He gave up and reached into his backpack for his torch.

Once he could see, instinct drew him in to the first room on the left, walking into a small comfortable sitting room. The fireplace was cold. The room, like the hallway, was covered in dust, though otherwise clean. Bookshelves lined every wall, and he longed to go look at these. He sneezed, and decided that he'd rather get back out into the fresh air more. He was on a mission.

He reached into his backpack for the notebook and examined it under the torchlight.

_Step 1. Go to Godrick's Hollow. Find 17 Slope Lane, enter with password._ _Step 2. Lift rug in front room, find the knot in the shape of an oak leaf, press it._ _Step 3. Remove trunk from secret compartment, open, find wand and money. (Muggle & Wizarding)_

He stopped reading at that point, eager to see some wizarding money. He pulled the rug up, removing the trunk from the promised spot. Opening it.

Inside he found a small stack of 20 quid bills, along with a brown bag, a long, slightly battered looking wand, a black cloak and a scarf, along with several books. He examined them carefully, blinking at the titles, which included _Transfiguration Montly, October 1951_, _Magical Flora and Fauna of the Fens._ and an odd book with no title at all, but bound in a strange green leather.

He set aside his raging bibliophilia for a moment, opening the small brown bag, which made an expensive "clink" when he handled it. He removed several coins, and something inside him knew the names. _Golden Galleons, Silver Sickles and Bronze Knuts. 17 Sickles to the Galleon, 29 Knutts to the Sickle._

He admired them for a moment, before putting them back in the bag, adding the pound notes to it and slipping it deep inside his backpack, under an old jumper. He then lifted the wand, a few small red sparks flying drom the end as he waved it lightly in the air, earning a gasp from the boy. He looked down to his book again.

Step 4. Put on cloak, add scarf to cover face, and press wand lightly to throat. Incant. _Obscura Vox_.

He was a little loathe to press the wand to any portion of his anatomy after it emitted sparks, but he did as he was told. "_Obscura Vox._ La la-hey!"

His voice had changed in timbre. He was small enough that with long hair, he'd easily pass for an ugly girl. He went and looked in the mirror once he'd put on the cloak and scarf, and spoke some nonsense words, trying out his new voice."One ring to rule them all, and one ring to-... Bloody hell."

He was going to look silly if he tried to get on a train like that, but nobody would take him for himself. With only his eyes visible he looked like a bit like some of the muslim girls he'd seen down at the shops, his smaller body easily believable as a slightly older, yet undeveloped girl.

He went back to the book.

_Step 5. Go outside, walk two blocks in any direction. Wait until unobserved, then point wand away from body at a 90 degree angle to the curb, then flick up, to sky. No incantation. Transportation will arrive shortly._ _Step 6. Ask to go to Spinner's End in Coketown. You are Hunter Snape, 16, going to visit your uncle who has fallen ill. Pay with eight silver sickles._ _Step 7. Go to the last house on the block, number 127. Knock, and ask for Severus Snape. Keep your hood down and scarf up. Do not show him your face, but do not lie._

He stopped reading at this point, figuring he'd have time to read further while he was getting there. Coketown was quite a ways away, he seemed to remember. He looked down at the trunk and the myriad of books there, torn between stuffing them in his backpack or not. He eventually decided not, since they probably belonged to Dumbledore, and shut the trunk, putting it away and replacing the rug.

He reached in to the backpack and opened the sack, counting out eight sickles and putting them in his pocket, where they jingled softly. He walked back towards the door, opening it with the handle this time, shutting it behind him, before walking out to the street.

After he was sufficiently away from the house, he checked to make sure he was alone, and flicked his wand in the proscribed manner, wondering just how long it would take. He fell over backwards when the large purple triple decker bus appeared with a loud bang.

The door open and the driver called out to him. "C'mon, All aboard." Desmond picked himself up off the ground and groaned a little, grabbing his backpack and getting on the bus, which proclaimed itself the "Knight Bus," according to the painted name on the hood.

The driver, who's name tag read "Ernie Prang," grunted. "Where ya goin'?" He asked, peering at Desmond through coke-bottle glasses.

Desmond spoke, still unused to his girlish voice. "As close as you can get me to Spinner's end, in Coketown." he said.

Ernie grimaced a bit as he looked at the hooded figure. "What number? Eight sickles please."

Desmond removed the coins from his pocket and counted them into Ernie's waiting hand. "One nineteen Spinner's End, please." He said, hoping that bit of misdirection was unnecessary. Ernie waved him inside the bus, and Desmond walked to the back of the bus, settling in one of the unsecured chairs gingerly. He felt relieved that he wasn't even asked his name, or why he was there. Cloaks were useful, he decided.

A second later, Ernie pulled a lever, and the bus accelerated again with a lound bang. Desmond's chair, along with the rest of the chairs in the bus, slid backwards, and the boy gripped the edges of his seat. There were two other witches in the far back of the bus, and they seemed to regard him coldly.

With a bang, the scenery outside changed from pleasant countryside to hectic cityscape of London. They stopped, again with a loud bang. Ernie called out. "Leaky Cauldron, stop for Diagon Alley."

Desmond looked out the window as the two wizards got off. They walked towards a dingy looking pub. He watched them until the bus sped of again.

After several more stops where Harry saw various bits of London, noting locations where wizards and witches got on and off, "Ottery St. Catchpole," "Hogsmeade," "Hollyhead," "Cork," (This caused Desmond a bit of shock, realizing that the bus was hopping wildly all over England.)

The bus finally came to a jarring stop. "Spinner's End, Coketown." Desmond got up and off the bus quickly, looking up and down the deserted street as the bus lurched off and turned around a corner before disappearing with another bang.

Harry turned to walk towards the end of the street. Once he got to the house Dumbledore had indicated, he moved towards the door, then stopped. What was he meant to say to this Snape?

He dropped his backpack as the door opened, and he froze as the gaunt man stared at him coldly. "Exactly who are you and what do you want?"

Desmond froze as the wizard walked towards him. "I…" he swallowed. "Are you Severus Snape?"

Severus didn't answer, merely stared at the boy. "I was meant to come here and ask Severus Snape for help."

The wizard scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm not sure exactly what help you are in the market for, but I do not deal with people who's faces I cannot see. I am not interested. Good day." He turned to go inside.

"Dumbledore sent me here."

Snape turned on his heel as he stared at the boy. "Albus Dumbledore hasn't been seen in nearly ten years." he sneered. "And even if he did somehow speak to you from the great beyond, or wherever he's ended up, why would he send you to a former Death Eater for help?"

Desmond struggled for a moment, and Snape stared at him coldly. "I don't know. I haven't read that far in the note."

"Show me," Snape said, in a voice that dripped with menace, "This note, and show me your face."

"The note said not to show you my face."

"And why is that?"

He shrugged. "He said I had a curse on me." he said, removing the notebook from his backpack and looking at it, reading step 8.

_Step 8. Serverus will no doubt ask to see this missive. First, Ask him who he asked me to protect. The answer is Lily Potter._ _Step 9. Severus, please help the bearer of this message. Do not use Legimency on them, and do not ask to see their face until AFTER you have brewed the following potion. It is vital to all concerned that you do this._

There was a list of ingredients and instructions that took up most of the rest of the filled pages.

"He wrote that I need to ask you a question before I trust you." He said, "Who did you ask him to protect?"

Severus looked down at the notebook, which Desmond quickly closed. He gave a small sigh, and said, in a pained voice, "I asked him to save Lily Potter from the Dark Lord."

Desmond nodded, and handed over the notebook.

Snape looked over the list, then sighed. "This appears to be in his handwriting. I will not ask any further questions... However, I cannot brew this," he said, irritably, "For two reasons. One, I do not have these three ingredients, which are either expensive or difficult to find in the UK. Secondly..." he held up his hands, which shook lightly. "I can't prepare the ingredients. My manual dexter-… my hands shake too much to prepare ingredients with enough precision."

Desmond shrugged. "Can I help? I have money, too."

Snape looked down at him. "I am uncertain of your skills. However, if you're willing to learn…" he pondered a bit. How much money do you have?"

He reached into his backpack. "I have about fifty of the gold coins, more of the little ones, and some muggle money too."

Snape sighed and nodded. "That will be sufficient. Let me go inside and fetch my cloak." he looked down at the boy. "I do not know why he trusts you with me."

Desmond shrugged, and waited as Snape fetched his cloak. The tall man returned. "I am not sufficiently well to apparate us both to London from here. There is a floo node closer to the center of town. Are you up for a little walking?"

"What's a floo node?"


End file.
